


The Needle & The Pattern

by KuriKoer



Category: C6D - Fandom, Canadian 6 Degrees, Hard Core Logo (1996)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP, Smut, not quite canadian shack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 00:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKoer/pseuds/KuriKoer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP and doilies</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Needle & The Pattern

**Author's Note:**

> To HazelWho, without whom this would not be.

There were doilies, doilies everywhere. On every surface, and the old lady running this B&B made sure there were plenty of surfaces. Tiny useless tables by the fuck-ton. Well, not entirely useless; Joe removed three doilies off one and used its nice smooth mahogany surface to cut a few lines and snort them one by one. That put him in a right nice mood. He put another doily on his head, then took off his shirt and tried to hang two on his nipples. Billy laughed, sprawling across the swear-to-God crocheted bed cover. There were two extra doilies on the pillows, too.

Doilies were not meant as nipple-covers for amateur strippers, that was clear. Joe tried to make better 'hooks' by twisting and pulling on his own nipples, mind entirely focused on the practical end - if practical is the right word for it - and it took him some time to notice Billy wasn't laughing anymore.

He dropped the doilies. Held Billy's gaze. Pinched his left nipple harder, wincing and hissing. That wasn't entirely faked, either. The flesh was getting red, sore looking. Billy was less sprawled, leaning up on one elbow. He had one hand resting on his thigh. Even in jeans, Joe's eyes stuck to the bulge forming so close to Billy's loosely curled fingers.

"Like it?"

"You could make a living," Billy offered a lazy backwards compliment, but there was tension behind the words. And Joe wasn't too out of his mind to know what Billy likes.

He pushed two fingers into his mouth, slowly, slurping them hard and good. When he had Billy's full attention, Billy's hand finally finding its destination, starting to unzip, Joe made a V with his fingers and stuck his tongue between, waving it obscenely.

"Shut it, you love to suck cock," Billy muttered with a grin.

And Joe did, but he was making a point. He undid his own tight-fitting pants, pushing them down with some difficulty, and picked up a doily from the floor, placing it carefully over his half-hard dick as he stood up again, like a hellishly crocheted veil.

Billy started whistling 'here comes the bride'. Joe picked another doily from a nearby sideboard and threw it at him. Billy held it to his face, pretending to inhale its scent, eyes half-closed with exaggerated lust. Then he stuck his tongue through the weaving.

Thing about Billy's tongue, it tended to drive Joe away from his plans. In every way.

He tumbled into the bed, not bothering to undo his shoes, hampered by the pants around his ankles, dropping heavily on Billy. The bastard was laughing now, although a little breathlessly, and Joe answered with a wide, panting grin, before grabbing the doily back from the rough guitarist fingers. He stuffed his hand down the front of Billy's jeans, effectively wiping the smirk from his face. He shuffled the blue cotton of Billy's underwear aside, scrunching it out of the way, and then wrapped the doily around Billy's cock.

It had to be kinda rough. It had to be bumpy. It was a sort of thick thread and complicated pattern that didn't make for the ideal wank-sock, at least in Joe's opinion. All of that didn't stop Billy from throwing his head back, exposing a long, biteable throat, and giving a few short, breathless moans.

Joe was never one to resist temptation. His hand moved faster, the fabric between them catching and Billy's heat pouring through the doily against his palm. He leaned in and licked along Billy's neck, biting him just under the ear, eliciting a hitch in his now continuous quiet moans. Joe's own dick was against the stupid bed cover, and he shifted, only to find himself against Billy's jeans, and that too wasn't really any kind of velvet-softness. After a moment he stopped caring, shifted again, captured Billy's mouth in a kiss that left it redder, puffier. Joe rubbed his cheek against Billy's own stubble, letting the doily slip a little from between his fingers so that he could touch the head of Billy's cock, hot and smooth and wet and almost silky after the foreign texture of the knit napkin in his hand.

Billy moaned again, open-mouthed, his own hands still by his side, clutching at the covers, doing nothing for Joe, to Joe. Joe squeezed viciously, going on a hard stroke twice, three times, and then Billy was spilling all over his hand, the doily, his own jeans, the bottom of his t-shirt. Through the holes in the snowflake-like doily, Joe felt his fingers grow sticky.

"Hey," he said. Billy said nothing, only offering a breathy chuckle in response. "Hey," Joe repeated, "don't make me smother you with this thing."

He held up the soiled knit fabric, affecting a stern glare. Billy laughed, then turned on his side, pushing Joe on his back. He was still hard, and he was still hobbled by pants and shoes and everything, so he just went along with it. Billy leaned up on an elbow again, staring down at Joe with a look that was almost tenderness.

"Come on," Joe said, convincing himself the words didn't end with a whine, and a moment later Billy conceded, pulling himself to a half-sitting position, lowering his head over Joe's hard, leaking cock. Another moment, a hot breath, a tease - Billy - and then Joe got his reward, a blow job of a lifetime, hot and wet, no teeth, all lips and tongue and suction and everything that was kind about Billy, everything that was giving and soft. It was ridiculous how quickly it brought Joe close to the edge. He kept his eyes open, trying to concentrate, and noticed a collection of doilies on a dark blue velvet padding, framed and hanging on the wall behind Billy's back. Joe barked a laughter, catching his wheezing breath.

"Hm?" Billy looked up, a question clear in his eyes, but he hadn't stopped sucking for a moment.

"Keep going," Joe choked out. He got another hum in response, and no change in rhythm. "You're like a fucking pro," he panted.

It was meant to be more or less a compliment, but Billy raised a middle finger to him anyway. Joe laughed at him, and then that finger pushed its way back between his legs, slipping in the sweat until it found just that place that still made his heart skip a beat, still made his cock pulse, still made him come when Billy pushed in just up to one knuckle, just promising what it could be, just reminding Joe of all the ways Billy could make him feel.

Joe grunted, coming hard, feeling Billy's tongue pressing against the head of his cock when the blond pulled half-off through the tremors, waiting until Joe was slumped completely before releasing him and smirking. He reached behind himself without looking, keeping his eyes locked on Joe's, and brought the doily that was on his pillow, wiping his mouth with it.

Joe grinned, trying to catch his breath. His own fingers were still clutching the soggy doily soaked through with Billy's come. He decided then and there to keep it as a souvenir.


End file.
